(image: Leila Kubba Kawash 1996.)
Someone
just climbed to the top of the cliffs
and began to curse the sea.
Dumb water, stupid pregnant water,
slow, slimy copy of the sky,
you peddler between sun and moon,
pettifogging pawnbroker of shells,
soluble, loud-mouthed bull,
fertilizing the rocks with your blood,
suicidal sword
dashed to bits on the headland,
hydra, hydrolizing the night,
breathing salty clouds of silence,
spreading jelly wings
in vain, in vain,
gorgon, devouring its own body,
water, you absurd flat skull of water--
And so he cursed the sea for a spell,
it licked his footprints in the sand
like a wounded dog.
And then he came down
and patted
the tiny immense stormy mirror of the sea.
There you go, water, he said,
and went his way.
--Miroslav Holub. Trans. David Young & Dana Habova.
from Sagittal Section. 1980
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